timing the spaces

die to live (and die again).

timingspaces — Sun, 29 Sep 2013 03:05:45 GMT

Title: die to live (and die again).
Pairing: layhan, minor!lukai
Rating: pg-13
Length: drabble, ~750 words
Summary: Yixing tries to kill himself over and over again while Luhan keeps reminding him that he's already dead.

When Yixing died, the first time, Luhan buried him in the small section of grass at the side of the parking lot. They had no family, which made costly funerals pointless, so Luhan arranged a small goodbye at midnight and invited a few friends by word. Only Minseok came, and he left when he knew there was nothing he could do to stop the kneeling man's tears that night, but came back for him in the morning when he found him sleeping, curled up under a tree.

Yixing was all Luhan had. Luhan needed Yixing to be there, to hug him when he was sad, to hug him when he was happy, to hug him all the time, to talk to him until he was lulled to sleep, to coax him with explanations of self-worth and why they needed to be motivated to survive anything that hit them. Luhan doesn’t really understand how he survives now, one month later, because he still needs Yixing.

Yixing needs Luhan, too. But he doesn’t want Luhan; Luhan is now his worst conscious nightmare. He can’t sleep, he can’t leave, he can’t look away, he can’t rip himself away from where he was buried because Luhan is always there, always crying, asking for Yixing to come back, bringing meals and offerings that don’t appetize him anymore, even though he really wishes it did more than Luhan.

Luhan needs to survive, and Yixing will do anything to make sure he does.

Minseok dies the next day, and Luhan cries a bit, then even more because it reminds him that Yixing isn't there either, leaving him all alone. Yixing kills himself because he can’t comfort Luhan, but he doesn’t cry because he hypothesizes he has one and a half months before he needs to kill himself again.

* * *

A month passes and Luhan still feels an emptiness that can’t be filled, but he thinks that it’s getting better with time because everything about Jongin reminds him of Yixing (but not everything about Yixing is like Jongin).

When they met, it was in the shadows of a large garbage container as Jongin hid Luhan from a group of high school delinquents, and Luhan was mostly thankful (although he feels like a part of him wanted to get caught by them so he might have been able to join Yixing, wherever he is). Jongin is fairly well built—more well-built that Yixing was—and his abs remind him of Yixing and his short hair reminds him of Yixing—hell, his gender reminds him of Yixing, but Jongin doesn’t mind. He offers to accompany Luhan for the rest of his life and Luhan accepts when Jongin says he doesn’t mind if all he talks about is Yixing.

But he didn't expect that Luhan was serious when he said that all he talked about is Yixing, how Jongin resembles Yixing, how Jongin is different from Yixing. Sometimes Jongin gets annoyed, but Yixing gets the most annoyed because Jongin is nothing like him, because he knows that he does the job of accompanying Luhan to his death the best. But he still thanks Jongin for staying by Luhan’s side because he can’t be as close as Jongin. But he can only thank Jongin for half a month until he apologizes.

And for the first time in half a month, Luhan goes to sleep feeling cold because he’s all alone again without Yixing or Jongin to cradle his frail body through to another day. Yixing kills himself because he can’t comfort Luhan, but he’s stuck in an endless loop of killing and living while he’s always been dead.

* * *

It’s been another month and a half and Luhan still has no one to comfort him. He goes back to where his sorrows all started every night trying to find a trace of what he's wanted back for months now. Minseok’s body had been picked up by local authorities—same with Jongin’s—and Yixing is all Luhan really has again. Except Yixing isn’t really there, either.

Luhan is hungry, but Yixing is hungrier, and he kills himself over and over again as Luhan walks closer and closer to the patch of grass in the parking lot.

“Yixing?”

Everything goes blank and Yixing kills the both of them that night.

a/n: super rushed and written in an hour and a half oops

burnt to black

timingspaces — Sun, 01 Sep 2013 02:46:49 GMT

Title: burnt to black
Pairing: none; chanyeol-centric
Rating: pg-13
Length: drabble; 629 words
Summary: the sun is warm, the clouds are wet, the moon is cold, and chanyeol opens the window to let them in.

when chanyeol opens the window, he sees the sun. he looks at it, it looks back, and he looks down. he must be feeling shy, he presumes, because that's what he remembers reading in books. his face gets warm and turns red because the sun keeps looking at him, so he thinks that he likes the sun. yes, that's it. he likes the sun because the sun is always there and makes him warm. usually.

when chanyeol opens the window, he sees the clouds. he looks at them, they look back, and he yells because they make him feel cold. is he angry? maybe he is, but he doesn't know why. maybe it's because they took the sun away, and he has to protect the sun, because that's what people are supposed to do to things that they like. he keeps staring at the clouds because they say that it's scary when he looks at people, but the clouds don't go away. his face gets wet, and he looks down. he understands. he must be crying because he doesn't like the clouds. the clouds make him sad. he closes the window and his face stop getting soaked. he isn't sad anymore, he thinks.

when chanyeol opens the window, he sees the moon. he looks at it, it looks back, but chanyeol doesn't look down. the moon makes him feel cold but it's dark and only crickets and the wind talk to him, but they say silence means a lot more than words. or something like that. chanyeol doesn't really remember what the wording of the quote is. he keeps staring at the moon, but the moon doesn't go away. the moon accepts him for who he is. chanyeol thinks the moon is his best friend because they can communicate a lot by just looking at each other without speaking, and chanyeol feels calmest like this.

when chanyeol opens the window, he confesses to the sun, but the sun doesn't answer.he looks at the suna nd the sun looks back but he doesn't look down. while he waits for the sun's answer, his face gets red and he feels himself getting shy, he thinks, but he doesn't look away. he wait more and more and he feels himself hurt more and more. this must be what it feels like to be heartbroken, but chanyeol doesn't give up because no, that's not what heroes do. he doesn't close the window and when the moon pushes the sun away to tell him that it's no use anymore, he closes the window and waits for the sun to come up again. and again, and again.

when chanyeol opens the window, he doesn't see the sun, the moon, or the clouds. it's all black. they're just late today, he assumes and waits for them. the birds chirp and the wind blows and his face gets wet and dries as if all three of them take turns playing hide-and-seek with him. he must be shy again because his face heats up. the sun must be out. more and more osunds come to his ears and the sun must be talking to me. he's sweating, his heart races, i'm excited, i must be, and this must be what it's like to fall in love. But love is a freefall; it never ends. but chanyeol—chanyeol's ends because when he finishes falling, his chest hurts. he coulghs and feels his face get wet, and he must be crying because the sun doesn't love him back but his face still feels hot and he still sees black. but the black fades to white and he doesn't feel the wetness or the pain anymore. the hurt stops and he just feels warm again.

the sun loves me back.

welp, i hope you enjoyed that. sorry if it was a bit confusing but i'm sure you guys'll be able to figure it out! have a nice day or night c:

specks of silver

timingspaces — Tue, 06 Aug 2013 05:36:04 GMT

Title: specks of silver
Author: timingspaces
Pairing/Members: Sehun/Jongin (SeKai)
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: definition
Length: 2100~ words
Summary: Sehun realizes that dreams can only be reached by painful realities (or not reached at all).

(entry for aideshou challenge 10)
[a/n: i forgot to change my userpic /cries]

It’s four in the afternoon, with both the full moon and the sun somehow hanging in the sky amongst the clouds, when Sehun first catches sight of him. Staring at the fairly tall figure lying on the gravel, he feels it—the sort of indescribable pull—similar to the way the moon revolves around the Earth. Everything about him is flawless: the way his body is built, the way his face is structured, the way his dark hair falls just above his eyebrows and over his tanned skin. Sehun thinks he’s a work of art that should be preserved.

So past the sound of sirens, past the chatter of bystanders, the crushed pieces of metal scattered across the freeway, and the deep red that covers his face and body, Sehun can’t help but just stand there and admire what he tries to imagine his forever.

ii.

Sehun likes staring because it’s harmless. He stares at what he wants to observe until he can almost feel the burn in his eyes and blinks and stares again. When the window is open and a breeze blows into the side of his eyes, he blinks more than usual, but he doesn’t really notice.

Sehun stares and stares, even though the person he’s staring past looks in his direction, startled. It’s all he allows himself to do.

He hears them talk about chills and ghosts and flickering lights in hospitals before they cry over broken hopes and dreams and the unbelievable accuracy of their slumbering friend’s three-pointers. It floods and flushes out of Sehun’s ears like the sounds of the IV drip and heart monitor as they leave, but, even when the door clicks shut, Sehun’s eyes never leave the boy.

Staring is something that doesn’t cause Sehun pain, but he knows he’ll regret it later on.

iii.

Sehun has always lived, but never dreamed. Each time he closes his eyes, the darkness that consumes him doesn’t send his mind to realms beyond those he normally sees; it’s always been pitch black. But he doesn’t wish to dream. Dreams are too hard to find and too hard to complete, Sehun thinks, because everyone who dreams dies.

Sehun’s already died once dreaming of two hands that could have interlocked as well as two pairs of lips and limbs that could have roamed far beyond milky skin—and once is enough. Dreams and wishes get crushed along with the meteoroids that make shooting stars. Jongin’s is no exception.

Broken dreams make broken dreamers but Sehun hopes Jongin only ever breaks his leg.

iv.

“Jongin.” Sehun hasn’t said anything in a long time, but he likes the way the name slips off his tongue, through his teeth, and into the constant drone of hospital machines. He repeats it again, “Jongin.”

Why does Jongin keep sleeping? It doesn’t make sense to Sehun because the cuts and bruises covered by bandages are the only things the hospital treated Jongin for—other than his broken leg. He’s just sleeping. There’s nothing wrong with his MRI; he just hasn’t woken up yet, the doctor told his friends earlier today.

“Jongin,” Sehun repeats, a bit quieter this time. Sehun hopes that there really is something wrong with Jongin’s brain. A concussion, a brain tumour, hemorrhages—anything but simply sleeping.

Sehun hears footsteps from outside the door, and a light flashes through the gridded glass.

“Kim Jongin,” Sehun whispers one more time. His voice cracks at the last syllable, wishing he didn’t take the long route to his house the day he saw Jongin.

When the door opens, the silver-haired boy is no longer seated on the windowsill, and the security guard can only see the refraction of the full moon through the windows and onto the white bed sheets.

v.

Sehun’s hair doesn’t grow. It’s been a long time since it had turned silver from the tips to the roots, just like his pale, nearly translucent, complexion. His lips are a pink that almost blends in with his skin and his eyes—his eyes are a light blue that keeps getting cloudier with his age.

Jongin’s opposing appearance always surprises Sehun when Sehun’s eyes wander away from and back to Jongin. His hair a brown that’s almost black, skin a cappuccino he wants to taste, lips rich pink, and Sehun imagines his eyes to be a deep brown he’ll want to dive into—if he ever gets the chance to even glance at them.

But that would be impossible. He won’t ever get the chance because the bandages have yet to be removed, the MRI’s haven’t changed, and Jongin still slumbers his days away, putting his life on hold until it’ll fast-forward when he wakes up.

The doctors have labeled him as comatose, but Sehun knows much better. Comatose patients grow, heal and age as their friends and family talk to them, hoping for the possibility that their thoughts will be heard. Jongin can’t be comatose.

Jongin might be able process what he hears, but his hair doesn’t grow and his muscles don’t become weak. Sehun still wishes for Jongin to be sick, to be dying, instead of being put on pause.

Sehun, contrarily, also wishes to keep Jongin forever, but Sehun’s forevers have always ended with decimals rather than infinities. Sehun already knows that Jongin can’t be his and he can’t be Jongin’s but when he closes his eyes, he imagines his hands submerged in pools of caffeine.

(His forever has already ended before he opens his eyes again.)

vi.

“Jongin,” Sehun whispers from his seat on the windowsill before leaping down next to the mattress. He walks closer to where Jongin’s right arm has rested for the past month and kneels down.

Sehun watches the rises and falls of Jongin’s chest through the covers. His eyes move from his chest to his shoulder, down the contours of his toned arms to the calloused hands and fingers Jongin had used to shoot and pass and pave the perfect path towards the day he’ll be able to represent his country.

Sehun places his hand inches over Jongin’s forearm and can already feel the warmth burning through his skin. He closes his eyes and imagines his hands covered in Jongin, but when he opens them, they aren’t.

A pale hand moves to Jongin’s palm and, as it hovers over the patterns that carve through Jongin’s hand, Sehun can already tell that his hand would fit perfectly into the darker one, that Jongin’s fingers would wrap around Sehun’s hand as well as foam clings onto almost every surface—but foam is all Sehun ever touches.

He never actually feels the searing warmth Jongin could provide no matter how he begs himself to because it’s all he deserves; he’s already taken so much from Jongin and to take more of what Jongin has and the things he loves would be too cruel—even if Sehun only takes out of love.

vii.

Jongin’s been put on hold, but, even after he picks up again, Jongin can’t die. Jongin’s too precious, too rare, for Sehun to let him just pass the world by without being preserved or leaving any trace whatsoever.

But Sehun—Sehun’s already passed the world by hundreds of times without leaving a trace. Sehun’s been preserved for far too long and Sehun wouldn’t mind taking Jongin’s place. He wants to take Jongin’s place because from here on out, Sehun already knows the decades will pass like months and before it feels like a year has passed, Jongin will be gone.

“Jongin.” Sehun wants Jongin so badly that he trembles when he closes his eyes and all he sees is Jongin. Jongin, Jongin, Jongin—everything is about Jongin; how good Jongin would look in a jersey, how many points and assists Jongin would make in a game, how hard Jongin would practice, smiling, enjoying what he loves. And at the end of it all, Sehun can almost see Jongin playing as one of the nation’s starters.

But Sehun’s in the way, always in the way, standing in front of the door to the building, wanting to see him, wanting to say good luck to him just once, wanting to touch him just once.

And when Sehun opens his eyes and sees Jongin sleeping in front of him, the Jongin in his mind is still trying to open the door he thinks is locked. He can never get in or out unless Sehun moves aside.

Sehun has to leave.

viii.

Sehun’s close. He’s close enough to feel the air coming out of Jongin’s nose, close enough to count the pores of his tanned skin, close enough to feel so much of Jongin’s heat that he feels himself nearly sweating.

His hands are pressed against the mattress around Jongin’s head. He’s strong enough to hold himself up, but his arms still tremble as he lowers himself closer, closer, closer—no matter how close he gets, he can’t feel Jongin.

Sehun’s eyes look away from Jongin’s lips to his eyelids and, for just a moment, the skin flashes a milky white that Sehun can’t help but be reminded of.

His whole body reacts. Jongin keeps getting further and further away even though he gets closer and closer in his mind, and he can’t feel Jongin.

He whimpers as the tears fall, but Jongin’s face remains unmarked.

ix.

When Sehun’s hair was silver but still dark brown at the roots, he saw a boy whose chestnut hair could never be nearly as golden as his heart was. Sehun watched him day and night—do you need help planting these, sir? I can help you get water from the well, miss—but the day Sehun decided to confront the boy, bandits stole away the smile Sehun wanted for himself and surrounded it with embers.

“Luhan,” Sehun would say night after night, waiting for him to wake up. He didn’t understand—he had dragged Luhan out of the house before any flames could even graze Luhan’s skin, but Luhan continued to sleep, and sleep—and sleep.

“Luhan,” Sehun would whisper in his ear before kissing his temple, echoing throughout the cave within the mountains that peaked above Luhan’s destroyed village. Sehun would trace Luhan’s face—eyes, nose, cheekbone, jaw, lips—gently ghosting over the perfect features of his milky skin, and Sehun assumed consent from Luhan.

And even though Luhan kept on sleeping, Sehun was happier than he had ever been.

But months grew into years and decades and Sehun grew impatient waiting for Luhan to wake up. Why won’t he wake up? Why? Why? Sehun would repeat night after night instead of the name he loved to say.

Sehun’s hair had already turned silver from the tips to the roots and he had been tired of waiting, tired of repeating the same name as he repeated the same actions over the same person. Luhan was breathing, Luhan kept living, but he kept sleeping and ignoring Sehun and Sehun hated it.

More than just a few decades had passed and they still looked as young as they were on that night many years ago until the night Sehun stopped touching Luhan, stopped saying his name, stopped staring at him.

But when the next night came and Sehun wanted to give him one last glance, his hair had grown to his feet, silver from the tips to the roots, and his golden heart dulled until it didn’t exist anymore.

(This wasn’t supposed to happen, but it’s bound to happen again.)

x.

“Oh Sehun,” he tries to tell Jongin as white begins shooting through his vision. The pain rips through him as he tries to stand and falls on his knees again, but he manages to stand, hunched over.

Sehun can only imagine, for the last time, what it’s like to sleep for such a long time. As he watches Jongin’s shallow breaths, he wonders how many worlds Jongin has visited during the amount of time Sehun has taken this world from him.

He continues hovering over Jongin and sees his fingers curl, eyelids closed, but moving, and knows that it’s almost his time. But Sehun doesn’t want to go. Not yet, not when he hasn’t yet seen Jongin play, not yet when he hasn’t even touched him, heard him talk, looked him in the eyes, no, it’s too soon.

Sehun doesn’t know if the pain he feels is from the blade stuck in the middle of his chest or the emptiness he feels from what he won’t be able to achieve or see or be a part of. Sehun wants to cry, he thinks he’s crying, he is crying; his vision is clouded and he feels the droplets falling from his eyes to Jongin’s face, but Jongin’s face is dry.

Sehun once dreamed that he would be able to look at Jongin’s eyes and smile, but he only sees a pool of brown through his tears before everything turns black.

xi.

“Where am I?”

end.

a/n: phew finally done with this—hope you liked it~ it was inspired by the Greek myth of Endymion in which the moon, whom they call Selene, falls in love with Endymion (he has different roles depending on the poet). Endymion becomes immortal, but he sleeps forever under the gentle touches of the moon. Taeyeon's OST for Mr. Go, "Bye," helped out with writing this as well. And thanks to baeksicles who stayed with me for hours as I endlessly complained about my writing and formatting /shot. ~~i promise i'll write that layhan eventually~~

ix;;

timingspaces — Mon, 08 Jul 2013 03:45:28 GMT

There was a time when

I thought you were

something impossible

I saw you shine

you were an idol I wanted closer

an inspiration

star I wanted to but

couldn't reach

Later was a time when

you were absolutely

perfect

flawed yet flawless

a gem

rarest of them all

and somehow

I could meet you

reach you

touch you

(through a plastic wrapping)

(so not really.)

Then I slowly found them

the chips and scratches

I tried to ignore

treasure

I wanted to

fill them

make you complete again

you were perfect

you would always be perfect

I thought perfection

never ended

But now I've found

the greateset crack that

can't be hidden

a crevice

a canyon I've fallen into

can't be excused

Sometimes I imagine

your shine creating

illusions

as if it were never

there

So please

tell me

it's not true

it's all a lie

it never happened

if I touch the crack it'll be

smooth

(right?)

-bbh

viii;;

timingspaces — Tue, 18 Jun 2013 23:22:54 GMT

i saw her lips

curved thin lines that

fit

perfectly

above and below

a row of teeth

i wished

smile for me

i heard her laugh

made her voice rise

happiness resonating

in my ears

i laughed back

my sanity

at risk

i held her hand

clammy palms against

soft

eyes forward

she laughed

dragged me along

we were friends

that was all

i smelled her neck

when we hugged

intoxicating

a drug

more

i thought we were

puzzle pieces

hoped my image

completed hers

i felt her lips

she was asleep

not dreaming

of me

i closed my eyes

saw images all over

my conscious

slipping

her

but to her

it wasn't

her

it was

him

him.

-kyr

vii;;

timingspaces — Mon, 17 Jun 2013 04:14:56 GMT

You held my hand

like it was nothing

nothing

just a touch

But it was something

too much

sent me racing

dancing beats

I could never reach

It was too soon

you slipped away

patted my head and said,

stay safe

My feet caught up

A step too late

The doors had closed

I'd have to wait

So I did and smiled when

you came back

held my hand

and I lost track

goodbye, stay safe

he was gone again

too much, too soon, too late

tomorrow,

I'll wait.

-osh

vi;;

timingspaces — Mon, 17 Jun 2013 02:48:38 GMT

I could never get enough

of you

the way you looked

sounded

perfection

It was new

each glance was

new

how?

i wanted to keep

each moment

why?

My eyes kept stealing

parts of you

processing polaroids

behind eyelids

I hung them up

in the darkness of my dreams

stars that gathered

almost forming day

Every day I wanted more

I was addicted

you

I wanted it all

everything

mine

I stared

and stared

It stung

Your beautiful eyes

your tempting lips

your laugh, your voice, your presence

you.

I loved it all

I loved you

I love you.

Do you love me?

-xlh

v;;

timingspaces — Sun, 16 Jun 2013 22:06:14 GMT

Don't say that I'm crazy—

I've never been.

But if you insist,

then tell me this:

Who was the one

who broke it all—

who shattered the lens

and crumbled my walls?

I'll give you a hint:

it wasn't me;

I'm not as strong as

I used to be.

It was someone else

more precious,

more kind,

someone whose smiles,

breaths I want

mine.

-csy

iv;;

timingspaces — Sun, 16 Jun 2013 22:04:11 GMT

I touched you

your dark skin like

shadows beneath

my frail fingers

You grabbed me

my hair wrapping around your hold

so you would never

let go

But before i could feel

the jolts or see

colours cutting through

the darkness

I was ripped out

it hurt and

I knew I could never

visit your arms

again.

-dks

iii;;

timingspaces — Sun, 16 Jun 2013 21:56:17 GMT

I looked at you and

you smiled

throwing me to the clouds

and over

I looked at you and

you laughed

and I flew to places

we should've gone to

I wanted to tell you

how cute you looked

how gorgeous you were

but space has no room

for air

I looked at you and

you looked away

so I laughed and

stared at the sun

that stung

my eyes

I looked at you and

you left

this can't be happening

I needed you but

there was still no air left

for me because

I gave it all

to you.

-pcy

ii;;

timingspaces — Sun, 16 Jun 2013 21:52:54 GMT

Those who suffer find

things they like

Hold them tight so that

it'll be alright

But when their grip isn't

as strong as they thought

Not enough to keep the

beautiful things

glued to

their hearts

They sink again

and slip away

it hurts even more

but that's

okay.

- hmy

i;;

timingspaces — Sun, 16 Jun 2013 21:47:01 GMT

Today I find

Faults in my mind

Strings too loose that

Won't be tied

A touch

A look

You've got me hooked

The bait has poked

And stabbed

And choked

You want to know my hopes and dreams

And just what makes me lead a team

But when you do you'll want to leave

Because it was you.

you're the one

who broke

it all.

-kty